


you got nothing but my crown on

by peachybuckys



Series: royals [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Falling In Love, Feminization, First Kiss, First Time, Future King Steve, Happy Ending, Lingerie, Love at First Sight, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Prince Steve, Strangers to Lovers, Top Steve Rogers, Weddings, bucky wears dresses and he likes it a lot, prince bucky, slut bucky, this whole fic is just a lead up to them fucking honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachybuckys/pseuds/peachybuckys
Summary: Out of the corner of his eye, something shiny catches the light of the big chandeliers of the ballroom. Whatever it is, it’s obnoxious enough that it shifts Steve’s attention from his best friends to the object. And when Steve pivots to hunt out the offending shimmery whatever, his breath is knocked out of him when he spots it.Well, not an it but a him .He’s fucking gorgeous , is Steve’s first thought. Brown wavy hair falls to the very tops of his tanned shoulders, which are bare except for the tiny straps of the short dress that are almost sliding off. The dress itself is sparkly, light from all around catching the glitter and sequins just right to shine brighter than anything or anyone else in the room. His cheeks are painted with pink and something else is making him almost glow . Fine earrings dangle from his ears and delicate gold chains wrap around his ankles, matching the color of his dress.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: royals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778644
Comments: 25
Kudos: 353





	you got nothing but my crown on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadefilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadefilter/gifts).



> this fic is a product of me and [nabu](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) in twitter dm's and me suggesting sluttie buckie gets married, because i'm a slut for stevebucky weddings. 
> 
> thank you to nabu for letting me write this and for ur beautiful art and [amanda](https://twitter.com/gloriousteve) for being by beta and for letting me cry to the both of you when i was doubting this whole thing to begin with.
> 
> i hope you like, enjoy!!!

The carriage hits another bump in the dirt road and jostles Steve in the uncomfortable seat. He shifts and adjusts his trousers as they bunch up on his thigh. While moving back into the position he was in before, his trousers bunch up once again. Steve sighs. Sam does not look up from the book he’s reading where he’s sitting across from Steve. 

“Will you quit fidgeting? You’re making me nervous.” Sam says and turns a page in his book. 

Steve fixes his bottom half and rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his eyes and setting his chin on his hand. 

“I’m not fidgeting, Sam.” He says, looking right at his best friend. Sam raises an eyebrow and glances quickly at Steve.

“Whatever you say, _your highness_.” Sam comments sarcastically and leaves Steve to his business.

The carriage continues to roll along the path it’s on, hitting all of the bumps and dips in the way. It’s taking all of them, Steve and his staff -- Steve uses the word ‘staff’ lightly; Sam, his Advisor, and Natasha, his Head of Knights, are his friends -- to a ball. 

Specifically, Prince Steven Grant Rogers of the Land of Dellingr and his royal court have been cordially invited to a grand evening of dancing and socializing in the Land of Nótt and the Castle of Barnes. Steve had no intention of going and planned on turning in early to sketch with the daylight he would have left after dinner. However the _moment_ his mother, Queen Sarah, had heard of the invitation they received, she insisted on Steve showing up. And Steve doesn’t have the ability to say no to his mother.

“Steven,” she had said over lunch one day. They were served salmon, caught from the nearest local sea town, with a plethora of vegetables and sat right by each other. “It’s important that you go to this ball. One day, you are going to be king, and it’ll sneak up on us so quietly it will seem to be overnight. Attending these events plays a significant role in maintaining allies, as silly and boring as they may seem.”

Taking a bite of his food, Steve huffed and chewed before responding. 

“A ball doesn’t _feel_ as influential.” He grumbled and stabbed at the fish on his plate with a fork. Sarah tutted at him for playing with his food. 

“It may not at the moment, but you’ll come to see the smallest things make a difference. As a future king, showing your face to our allies and neighboring kingdoms determines who they can and cannot trust. A busy schedule keeping you away from some is often acceptable, but going to none is a sign of disregard in the political atmosphere.” Sarah took a sip of her water and placed a napkin on her lap.

Steve nodded in understanding and finally ate the food he toyed with.

“Plus, it wouldn’t hurt too bad to look for a partner.” Sarah winked at her son and Steve felt himself inhale wrong and choke on the salmon.

That was over a week ago. After a long conversation with his mother, Steve decided to take his Advisor, Sir Samuel Wilson, and the Head of Knights, Natasha Romanov, with him. The Queen of course saw right through him, inviting his friends along, but both Sam and Natasha are good at their jobs and would keep Steve on task, while providing moral support. 

Now, Steve begins tapping his foot with impatience. The ride is long, _far_ too long. Sam flips another page in his book, he hears Natasha laugh outside the carriage over the sound of horse hooves hitting the ground at something their driver, Clint, said, and the wheels hit _another_ bump. Steve shifts in his seat once more. 

“Steve, I swear to all things holy if you do not stop moving around,” Sam actually looks up from his novel this time and sets it to his side.

“I’m hardly even moving! What do you want me to do here?” Steve’s voice raises in irritation just the slightest and Sam’s expression switches from neutral to game face. 

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” 

“That’s how it is.

“Well for one I think you can lose the attitude, and I think you should _settle the hell down_. Constantly twitching and rearranging yourself isn’t gonna help settle your nerves.” Sam stares him down and Steve feels his displeasure with this entire situation surface.

“I cannot settle the hell down, Sam! It’s stuffy in these God’s awful clothes and if we keep nailing every bump on this road I swear to fu--” Steve’s rant is cut off by the carriage coming to an abrupt halt and jerking the two boys -- hardly men, at both nineteen and twenty-one -- towards each other. 

The side door swings open to reveal a very annoyed looking Natasha. Her arms are crossed over her black chestplate armor and a sharp _something_ in her eye that says “ _I will end you both right here, right now_ ” without needing to speak.

“I am almost certain the residents of the village that is still miles away can hear you two going at it back here. Stretch your damn legs, get some air.” Her words are final as she steps away from the door and Sam and Steve hurry outside.

Sunshine hits Steve’s face and the wind blows his perfectly styled hair awry. For late April, it’s warm enough outside to make him hot, but the sun feels good on Steve’s skin. Summer is approaching fast and the freckles that scatter his body will come out in no time. 

The breeze coming from the east is cool and balances out the heat from the sun beating down on him. Steve strolls up and down the trail the carriage has already taken, never losing sight of it or either of his friends. It’s nice to walk and stretch his body out after feeling cramped up for hours of travel. 

Eventually, Sam and Steve have to climb back into the carriage and they set off for the Land of Nótt for the second time that day.

Despite being miles and miles out from their destination, this half of the trip is not as nerve wracking as the first. The walk had helped Steve calm down whatever he was feeling and he’s finally relaxing into the still-uncomfortable seat. 

Steve cannot deny he’s nervous. This is his first dip into the reality of becoming a king, having to socialize with other kingdom leaders and learn about their allies, the way these functions go, the lifestyle he will have to take on. 

He’s grateful he has his friends with him today. Sam and Natasha have been his best friends for years now. Steve met Sam when he was nine years old and playing out in the garden on an autumn afternoon. Sam had waltzed right up to Steve and declared them friends. When Steve accepted, Sam smiled wide and they played make believe for the rest of the day, until Sam’s mother, who was Queen Sarah’s lead Advisor at the time, called them both in for dinner.

Natasha had come into the picture when Steve was fifteen and Sam was seventeen. She was sixteen and the youngest person to ever be accepted into their knight training program. They instantly hit it off and became inseparable as best friends, even when Natasha was officially Knighted, Sam was sworn in as an Advisor, and Steve got older and began to take on more duties as a prince. 

Looking out the small window of the carriage, they pass by cottages that get larger the deeper they get into the village. Time had passed by quickly, Steve realizes, and with just a little more effort, he can see the castle coming into view.

It’s large, but nothing he hasn’t seen before. Steve hasn’t heard a lot about the Castle of Barnes or the royal family that occupies it, other than that they are kind people. He should probably do more research. 

When they reach the Castle of Barnes, the carriage comes to a final halt and Steve has to take a deep breath. 

In, two, three. Out, two, three. 

He feels a hand grip his shoulder, and turns to see Sam giving him reassurance before they step out and into the madness. 

“You’ll do fine, man.” Sam smiles and it puts Steve at ease.

“Thanks, Sam.”

Clint opens up their door, for appearances, and Natasha is standing by ready to escort them inside. 

“Ready boys?” She asks with that smile she does that is always sort of unsettling. It means she’s either prepared for battle or up to mischief, and today it is anyone’s guess.

Steve and Sam exit the carriage and the three of them make their way into the castle. Steve is up front with Sam and Natasha on either side of him.

The foyer is as grand as Steve thought it would be. Marble floors and large paintings of past relatives hang on the walls, representing long and great royal lineage. Voices flow in the entranceway from the open halls that are connected. Laughs from guests boom loudly and the orchestra playing music for everyone to dance to excitedly carries in as well. 

Stepping forward, the three friends make their way down the halls. As they make their way towards the main event, they pass bundles of people. Some are older and huddled together, whispering among themselves as they share secrets and gossip about fellow royals and lords, a few are younger groups of men and women alike, drinking and giggling.

None of them spare more than a glimpse at Steve, Sam, and Natasha. They’re dressed in nothing extravagant, something ceremonious enough for a ball such as this one but not flashy enough to be properly noticed. Steve is dressed in dark blue trousers and waistcoat with dark embroidered flowers and a simple baby blue dress shirt underneath. Sam wears an all black formal Advisors outfit and Natasha in a similar fashion in black armor, knives strapped to her thighs and a sword at her side. 

They soon reach a long staircase and balcony that overlooks everything on the ballroom floor. Couples waltz across the room and the people who aren’t dancing line the walls and congregate in the alcoves, sipping champagne and talking. 

Steve starts down the stairs with Sam and Natasha following him closely. He and Sam accept a drink flute at the flare of the staircase while Natasha politely declines. Her job is to protect Steve if anything were to go wrong and her mind can’t be fogged with alcohol. 

Looking around the floor and feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people dancing, Steve leads their group to the edge of the crowd near the alcoves. 

“Not gonna dance, are you?” Sam asks, taking a sip of champagne. He already knows this answer, but Steve responds anyway.

“Hell no. I’m here to show my face, talk to a few royals, and then we can high-tail it out of this place like it never happened.” Beside him, Natasha snorts.

Both boys turn to her.

“You’ll just make the finest king someday, Rogers,” she comments. 

“Don’t remind me, Romanov.” Steve grumbles and lifts the flute up to his lips to take a drink. 

Out of the corner of his eye, something shiny catches the light of the big chandeliers of the ballroom. Whatever it is, it’s obnoxious enough that it shifts Steve’s attention from his best friends to the object. And when Steve pivots to hunt out the offending shimmery whatever, his breath is knocked out of him when he spots it. 

Well, not an it but a _him_.

 _He’s fucking gorgeous_ , is Steve’s first thought. Brown wavy hair falls to the very tops of his tanned shoulders, which are bare except for the tiny straps of the short dress that are almost sliding off. The dress itself is sparkly, light from all around catching the glitter and sequins just right to shine brighter than anything or anyone else in the room. His cheeks are painted with pink and something else is making him almost _glow_. Fine earrings dangle from his ears and delicate gold chains wrap around his ankles, matching the color of his dress.

Steve can feel his mouth open, jaw dropped and probably drooling a little. He seems to be around Steve’s age, eighteen or nineteen years old, and moves throughout the room like he owns it. He is able to catch everyone’s attention and keep it. He’s undoubtedly got Steve’s.

“You okay, Steve?” Sam asks with a concerned look covering his face, not that Steve can see it of course. All of Steve’s focus is on the guy across the room. He approaches an older gentleman and lays a hand on his forearm, laying on the charm. Hard. Steve audibly gulps and quickly glances away.

“Yeah, ’M fine. Just thirsty, I think.” It comes out rough and Steve doesn’t think it sounds like him at all. The glass of champagne is still mostly full, so he finally takes a sip.

Just then, his eyes avert back to the guy, who still looks ethereal in his dress that only comes down to just above midthigh, sparkling every time he moves. The guy’s eyes, which Steve can tell, even from all the way across the sea of dancing people, are such a light blue they almost appear grey, meet his. He winks at Steve.

Trousers suddenly becoming quite uncomfortable, Steve’s own eyes widen and he excuses himself from his friends. 

He can hear them both calling out for him, but he has a much bigger problem right now. A much more _noticeable_ problem, like the tenting at his front.

Steve seeks out an empty room and has no luck in finding one until discovering a bathroom at a far end of the castle. He slips in and finds it completely abandoned, locking the door before putting his back to it. 

As fast as he can, Steve unbuttons his pants and tugs them down along with the thin pair of black undergarments just enough to expose his cock. He grips firmly and feels his stomach clench in pleasure.

 _Fuck_ , how is he _already_ close? 

Stroking fast and hard, he sets an unrelenting pace, thumb sliding over the head and slit spreading moisture all over his cock. His hips jerk and fucks into his fist, letting out a soft groan that echoes off the walls of the unoccupied bathroom. Steve pictures the thighs of the guy that had his attention, what could be underneath that stupidly short dress, the kind of whimpers and moans he’d let out as Steve would slide his hand up and up and up--

Steve hisses and spills into his hand, still fucking into it shallowly. His breath is uneven and comes out in fast pants. 

Now something awful churns in his gut. Pleasuring himself to someone he _just_ saw across a dance hall? Guilt settles over him.

Pulling his pants back up as briskly as he got them down, he washes his hands in an overly large basin with soap that smells like lavender. Steve dries them and begins to head back into the main event of the ball.

Natasha is waiting for him around the entrance when he returns.

“Where’d you go?” She asks this like she already knows the answer, and Steve, being her friend for years, is almost positive she does and heat floods his face.

“Restroom. Had too much to drink, I guess.” Steve lies and Natasha’s expression doesn’t convey her knowing what he had gotten up to other than the slightest raise of her brow. The knight doesn’t say anything else and the two enter the ballroom once again to find Sam.

Sam is leaning against a pillar when Steve and Natasha approach him. He’s speaking to a knight wearing the Castle of Barnes armor, grinning at whatever he’s saying, and the knight excuses himself after spotting both of them striding towards Sam. Sam waves goodbye and spins to face his friends. 

He notices the obvious questioning looks on each of their faces and spares them from asking. 

“That was Riley, he’s a knight for the Barnes’. He was just telling me about the different royals here.” 

“Oh really? Seemed like you guys were talking about a lot more,” Steve teases. Sam glares at him but ignores what he said and continues.

“Yes really. I heard the youngest Barnes, the prince, is a little… eccentric. Wears flashy and scandalous gowns, gets into a bunch of trouble. The king, supposedly, keeps trying to send him off to a higher education to have him stop.” Sam subtly points out someone in the crowd and Steve and Natasha whirl their heads around to see who he’s singling out. “That’s him. His name is James.”

Steve feels his mouth go dry. Prince Barnes is the guy in the dress. The very revealing, very sexy dress. 

“Aw, how sweet. Steve likes the Prince.” 

“Shut up, Nat. Lets just do this so we can leave.” 

For the next two hours, Steve turns himself into Prince Steven Grant Rogers of Dellingr and makes his way through the ballroom. He chats kindly to royals and is dragged into a leisure sway by an older woman with a crown on her graying head who simply called herself Angela and told Steve all about her lovely wife who couldn’t make it tonight. 

As the night slowly winds down, Steve seeks out his friends. In no time, the three are walking out of the ballroom and back towards the front doors of the castle. 

The carriage ride home is as agonizing as it was to the Castle of Barnes. It hits every single bump and dip in the way and all Steve wants to do is fall on top of his large, fluffy king bed and sleep way past the rising sun. 

Around one in the morning, they arrive back in the Land of Dellingr and the tenseness in Steve’s body _finally_ dissipates. It’s good to be home. 

Sam, Natasha, and Steve say goodnight to each other and go their separate ways to their rooms -- Natasha to the Knights Quarters across the castle, Sam to the Advisors Quarters, and Steve to his own. 

He strips his attire and falls face first into his bed, expecting to fall asleep. But he _can’t_ . He lays there for what seems like hours and he’s thinking about _Prince Barnes_. 

Steve doesn't get to sleep for a long time that night and for numerous after. 

☽☽☽

_Eight Years Later..._

Bucky twists in front of the large floor to ceiling mirror in his bedroom, spinning his dress so it fans out. The dress he’s wearing is all black and sheer. Golden embroidered constellations cover the skirt of it, the pattern flowing higher and becoming more solid as it comes over his chest. Moons and suns dot the sleeves and they flare out around his elbows. His metal arm matches well enough with his dress, and it makes him feel just a little bit better about having it. Only a bit, though. 

Shimmer gleams off of Bucky’s chest as the sunlight bounces off of him. He had braided his hair back, leaving two small pieces dangling to frame his face. 

He looks great, if he says so himself. 

With a quick, flirty smile to his reflection, he exits his safe haven bedroom and makes his way through the castle and to the grand dining room.

Bucky’s father, King George Barnes, only calls for dinners in the grand dining room if they have guests visiting. The thing is, this time Bucky has no clue who it could be because he hasn’t heard anything about visitors coming to the castle. 

As a child, Bucky’s family used to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together every day in the casual dining room and would have tea afterwards in the parlor. But as Bucky and his sisters, Rebecca and Elizabeth, grew older, family meals became less frequent. When Rebecca got married and started her duties to become the Queen and Elizabeth moved across the country to begin schooling, they were practically nonexistent. Even with Becca still at home, everyone distanced themselves and grew apart. Especially after Bucky’s accident.

From time to time, Bucky has lunches and dinners with Becca when her schedule is not full to the brim with training and political nightmares, in Bucky’s opinion. They’re able to laugh and speak freely like they could when they were kids, if only for a little while. 

Bucky struts -- yes, struts -- down the halls, but at an unhurried pace. With no guest inside the castle, he’s not exactly thrilled to be having dinner in the grand dining room with his parents for an evening.

Before Bucky even knows, the doors to the grand dining room appear before him. Despite his slower than average pace he gets there very much earlier than meant to. He pushes the double doors open and reveals both of his parents, _solely_ just his parents.

Together, King George and Queen Winifred Barnes can model a terrifying pair. The first thing Bucky notices is the _highly_ displeased look on his mother and father’s faces. In fact, his father looks angry. 

Bucky is in for a wild night. 

He continues to strut the length of the dining room to the large oak table that sits in the middle. It’s long and wide and currently bare of any food, a deep blue table runner down the center and multiple candles to light the spaces for their meals. 

Bucky pulls a chair out, the one directly across from his mother and beside his father at the head of the table. He starts to open his mouth but is cut off before he can even get a word out when the castle cooks bring out their dinner.

Everything is set perfectly right in front of them, always immaculate place settings, consistently flawless. _This castle must always be_ , his father used to say. He rolls his eyes at the memory.

They all eat in silence. Forks clang against the plates and every so often someone slurps wine from the heavy goblets that are provided at meals. Bucky thinks -- no, he _knows_ \-- this is one of the most awkward dinners he’s had at home. Time passes by slowly as they eat. No words are spoken and he watches as his parents trade looks with each other as they continue. They’re aware of something he isn’t. 

Since Bucky’s accident, five years ago now, the King and Queen have been extra distant from him. Bucky has always dressed the way he does, he _loves_ dressing this way. He’s worn improper dresses for as long as he can remember, short and _nothing_ a young man is supposed to be seen in. At least, not in their castle. King George wants his son in _respectable_ clothing, conservative gowns or proper prince's robes. Bucky flirts and sleeps his way through parties and balls, which is something his father has _never_ been fond of, on top of the clothing he chooses to put on. 

Which is why on the way home from a ball across the way, extremely past curfew -- why Bucky had a curfew at twenty-two years old is _beyond_ him -- when the accident happened, the King and Queen were furious because their son had been out late getting frisky in another kingdom. It was dark outside and the carriage had tipped over and crushed Bucky’s arm, trapping him until their driver could go get help.

Bucky’s arm was beyond repair and he lost it to the accident. Lucky, his family has connections to the Kingdom of Wakanda. Princess Shuri is a brilliant scientist and made Bucky a whole metal arm from scratch. Completely silver and reflective, sensitive to touch (particularly in the fingertips) and temperature all over, it functions just like a normal arm but twice as strong. 

He visited the Kingdom of Wakanda in an extended stay at their palace while Princess Shuri constructed the metal arm and before the surgery to attach it to his body. 

During his time in Wakanda, Shuri and Bucky became close friends. She was able to make him laugh through a traumatic time and he can keep up with her whip humor. The two of them meet on the first Sunday of every month for a day of catching up, from breakfast to dessert after dinner.

The King and Queen’s distaste for what happened that night is always evident, even now having a meal with their son. 

Bucky polishes off his plate and sets his utensil down, leaning back in the wooden dining chair. His father finishes his food as well and opens his mouth to speak.

“James,” his father starts. Bucky breathes a small sigh and his mother eyes him from across the table. _Attitude_ , he can hear her say. “Your mother and I have been talking. We both think it’s time for you to be married.” 

“Excuse me?” Bucky balks. King George puts his hand up to signal his son’s silence.

“Not now, James. We both think that this…” he trails off in thought, “silly phase of yours needs to come to an end. Since you are not going to settle down for yourself any time soon, your mother and I took the liberty of arranging for you to be with a nice young man. He’s in need of a husband before his Coronation to become a king, and I -- we think this will be a good way for you to represent our kingdom and finally stop flapping around the country.” 

Tears well up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He doesn’t cry, _Bucky_ does not _cry_. He cannot show that kind of emotion. He’s a prince, for Gods’ sake, it’s been trained out of him!

“When?” Bucky asks, because he knows it’s inevitable. He hardly keeps his voice from wavering. If his father has made up his mind, this is happening. There’s nothing he can do to change it unless he chooses someone to marry, and Bucky does not know any good men. At all. That are unwed, anyway.

“A month or so.” His mother chimes in finally. Her brows are furrowed together with worry. “You’ll meet him the day before the ceremony, which will be held at his family’s castle.” Queen Winifred reaches across and takes Bucky’s hand in her own.

“You will be okay, James. This will be good for you.”

Bucky just has to nod along and not let the tears slip out. He quietly excuses himself from the table and swiftly makes his way back to his bedroom quarters. He strips out of his elegant dress and climbs into his humongous, comfortable bed with his cream colored sheets and many fluffy pillows. Bucky allows himself to cry. 

He’s used to strangers, very obviously, dressing and getting around the way he does. But he has the _choice_ to, the _freedom_. Now he doesn’t. And he lets himself mourn his freedom.

The following month brings hectic days and sleepless nights for Bucky. 

Each morning, he is dragged out of bed by the family’s seamstress and tailor. They start working on Bucky’s wedding dress, which he thankfully has a say in wearing and how it is designed, first thing. Bucky stands on a platform in front of his large bedroom mirror in a delicate white dress, the tailor poking and prodding him with needles to fit the gown to his body. The seamstress works on the details; stitching suns, moons, and stars, frilly tulle around the waist and cuffs of the wrist.

In the early afternoon before a quick lunch are short lessons on the reality of politics of being married to a king and proper etiquette in appearing in the public eye. Lunch every day is a stop in the kitchens of the castle for some sandwiches and fruit, eating right there and hurrying off to his next task.

From just after his first meal of the day -- breakfast an afterthought when Bucky’s so busy -- until dinner, Bucky in meeting after meeting with a wedding planner, trying to do the monumental duty of planning a royal wedding ceremony in less than one month. 

Planning a wedding he didn’t necessarily agree to in the first place is not something Bucky truly wants to be doing. Not knowing the man he’s going to spend the rest of his life with and arranging for flower bouquets for them is obviously affecting Bucky’s mood. At least the woman helping is nice, he thinks. 

When dinner is over, Bucky finally, _finally_ gets time to himself. All day he’s around people getting ready for this wedding. This life altering event. 

And it’s driving Bucky fucking insane.

About a week out from the big day, Bucky strides into his bedroom and slams the door behind him.

“Fuck!” He shouts into the empty room. He begins to pad to the ensuite attached to his room to prep for his bath.

“I can’t believe this. I still cannot _fucking_ believe this,” Bucky mutters and sheds the tight blush colored corset top and flared cream colored trousers. He twists the hot-knob on the tub. “Want me to marry a man I’ve never fucking met. He could be insane for all I know. Gods, I know I don’t dress like a typical pretty pretty prince but really? Really?” His voice rings out in the bathroom, pulling down products from shelves to use.

“Your son can’t be everything you want him to be so you _send him off_? And you don’t even help! Turn my life upside-fucking-down because you’re worried about an image!” Bucky’s full on shouting now, throwing soaps into the bath that are supposed to be relaxing. He rips his hair down from the braided bun it was up in and climbs in. 

Submerging himself into the steamy water, most of the stress dissipates from his body. Only most, though. 

Sleeping with someone you don’t know is one thing, but being tied to them? Marrying them? Having matching rings and kissing at the altar? Sharing a _life_ with them? It’s so different, so, _so_ different. 

Bucky reaches over the edge of the tub and grabs a lavender scented shampoo. He needs ultimate relaxation tonight.

The week leading up, everything around the Castle of Barnes turns from hectic to literally crazy. 

Bucky hardly sleeps a wink, from final dress fittings to packing up all of his personal possessions. He sets out outfits to wear throughout the rest of the week but everything else is put into bags and cases he had to order from a shop in the village. Things like his jewelry, shoes, and shimmers are put away for good, until he arrives at his new home. Bucky gently packs away old photographs and smaller portraits, his crocheting supplies, and favorite books. The items that are most precious to him are tucked into a special case for only him to touch.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his most treasured place in the world, and stares at the violin and stack of music next to the instrument. Bucky hasn’t played in years, not since he was a teenager. He ponders whether or not it’s worth bringing with him to his new life. 

Deciding against it, he shuts the lid of its case and shoves it back into the back of the wardrobe. If for some reason he were to ever want to play again, he can always buy a new one. His new husband will be a king soon, Bucky doubts there’s little he cannot get. 

The night before he’s due to leave for the ceremony, Bucky lays in bed, room practically empty, and cries. He mourns his freedom and past life, the friends he’s made -- because Gods knows when he’ll ever get to see them -- and the decisions he once could make for himself. Bucky sobs himself to sleep and tosses and turns fitfully, waking often with heavy thoughts flowing through his mind. 

When the day to leave arrives too soon, Bucky opens his eyes, sticky with dried tears, to a headache that could kill. 

He takes a deep breath.

In, Two, Three. Out, Two, Three. 

Bucky slips out of bed. Reluctantly ready to begin his day.

☽☽☽

Steve gazes out of the window in the front of the library of the castle. The dark red walls are lined with shelves of books, numbering in the thousands. He looks out upon the grounds and sees multiple staff members bringing cases, bags, and boxes into his home. Three carriages come and go, dropping off his future husband’s belongings. 

_His future husband_.

Around a month ago, give or take a few days, Queen Sarah had approached Steve while he was painting in the gallery. Color stained his clothes and flecks were splattered all over his beard and shaggy hair. He was working on a wedding gift for Sam, his best friend and his new husband Riley, a portrait of the two of them in the gardens the day they got engaged. He was liking how it was turning out, capturing their soft smiles at each other.

His mother approached him from behind, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“They look happy,” she commented, observing the work of art in front of her. Steve chuckles.

“They are. Sam just wrote from their honeymoon. Apparently Riley is raising hell at different taverns around the local village.”

“That does sound like him. Sounds a lot like you too.” Steve looked up at his mother from where he sat on the stool. She sighed and met his gaze.

“A family reached out to me today…” She trailed off and brought her hand to his hair, removing some dried paint and smoothing it back. Steve felt something in his chest tighten. He always knew this would be happening. His Coronation was an impending doom hanging above him at all times, and it was important to marry beforehand. Given that he hasn’t met anyone even in the years of preparation to become the king, actions had to be taken to insure he had a partner. 

“Do we know them?” Steve asked and set his paintbrush down. He spun on the stool and faced his mother, who then cupped her son's cheek. 

“Yes, the Barnes family. Their son, James, is unwed. He’ll be a good fit for you.”

Steve’s eyes widened. 

The same man he’s been longingly looking at from across the room at various balls and parties. All Steve’s wanted to do for _years_ , talk to him and at the end of the night kiss him goodbye. The most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. Steve has yearned for something warm and stable for all these years, yet every time someone’s approached or he thought about it himself, he only saw Prince Barnes. _James_. 

For the next month, everything was crazier than ever. If Steve had hardly had time for himself beforehand, it dwindled down to nothing after the news. 

Now, he’s nervous to finally meet James. He wants to, _needs to_ , make a good impression on his future husband. Even if James isn’t in love with Steve like Steve is infatuated with him, he still wants him to have a good experience here, a nice home to live in. The last thing Steve wants is James to feel uncomfortable. 

Steps ring out beyond the double doors of the library and they’re opened moments later. Steve glances to his left and sees Natasha standing there, long red hair tucked into a bun and in her standard black armor. 

“He’s here, you know. Down in one of the sitting rooms. Wouldn’t want to leave your future man waiting now, would you?” She asks and motions for him to follow, which he does without protest.

“Have you met him yet?” They walk side by side down the corridor, falling in step with each other easily. 

“No,” She eyed him up and down as they continued. “But I hear he’s very polite. Seems to me you have yourself a nice young man, Steve.” 

Steve rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Will you ever stop teasing me about him? I’m about to marry him.” The two round the corner and reach the stairs.

“ _Knowing_ you’re about to marry him? Not a chance. I can’t wait to tease you about it in front of your children one day, Rogers.” 

Steve gives her a _look_ and she laughs all the way down the steps. Turning another corner, they reach the sitting room. He now feels like he’s going to be sick. The look on his face now likely shows his thoughts and feelings, Natasha grabs his hand and squeezes it in reassurance. 

“You’ll be just fine, Steve. Promise.” She smiles and Steve moves in to hug her instead. Natasha is warm and smells faintly of woodsmoke, familiar from all of their years of friendship. 

“Thanks, Nat.” He tightens his arms for a quick second before releasing her. 

He faces the door and takes a deep breath before opening it and stepping through the entrance to the sitting room.

At first, James is nowhere to be seen. He’s not sitting in any of the chairs around the table, a cup of tea left on a coaster that seems to have gone cold. When Steve takes a closer look, James is standing in front of the lit fireplace studying the family portrait of Steve and Queen Sarah. His mother's arm is looped around his own, both of them wearing royal robes and crowns, staring straight ahead.

Steve clears his throat.

“I painted that. About ten years ago, obviously.” He laughs nervously at his own joke and James focuses his attention from the portrait to Steve. 

James’ eyes are even more blue up close, Steve realizes. Everything about him is extremely beautiful and captivating. His hair is down and in a long, blush pink gown. The tips of his shoulders are bare and showing, freckles dotting all over. 

“It’s really good. Do you still paint?” James asks and Steve wanders into the room completely, already wanting to be near him.

“Not as much as I would like to,” Steve shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “Been pretty busy lately.” 

James nods in understanding and inspects the painting again. 

“I like to read. Fantasy, mainly. It’s nice to get lost in a world that isn’t yours for a little while. Not as extravagant of a hobby as painting, but…” James trails and folds his hands in front of him, wringing them together. Steve can practically feel the nervous energy coming off of him. He notices one of them is metal. A question for later, he figures.

“I’m not into fantasy as much as art history and romance, but I see the appeal. To escape from reality.” James raises a brow. They’re sculpted to perfection. 

“Romance? You don’t seem like the romance kinda guy, Prince Rogers.” The barest hint of a smile is coming out of James, and Steve is smitten.

“Steve. It’s just Steve.” He feels his cheeks heat up. 

“Bucky.” James -- Bucky? -- is actually smiling now, flirty and bright, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. 

“Bucky? What kind of a name is Bucky?” Steve bluntly asks, and then cheeks go from pink to full red, blush heating his face down to his neck. Bucky laughs, genuine and loud.

“It’s from my middle name. James Buchanan Barnes. My sister Becca took to calling me that when she was little and I was just a baby. It stuck.” Bucky shrugs his shoulders and Steve’s eyes are drawn there again. They’re _shimmery_.

“Well, Bucky makes more sense now. And I am a romance kinda guy, _Prince Barnes_. Nothing wrong with two people falling in love and ending up together in the end, after pining and chasing after each other.”

Bucky hums and nods once again. 

“You believe in love?” Bucky asks, tone tinged with something sour. Steve is close enough to Bucky now to see everything about him. His eyelashes are long and brush against the very top of Bucky’s cheeks when he blinks or glances down. 

“I do.” Steve’s words are heavy with the situation the two men are in, to be married tomorrow afternoon. They have a double meaning here, Steve knowing he fell in love the first time he laid eyes on Bucky all those years ago. Maybe it’s not real love but just a heavy infatuation, but he can feel it would be very, very easy to fall in love with the man standing in front of him.

The atmosphere is heavy and in order to chase it away, Steve offers a tour of the castle -- _their home_ , now. He takes them throughout the building, showing Bucky every room and secret passageways he used to use to sneak out to go to protests or different shops without a guard’s presence. 

On the top floor, Steve points out his bedroom quarters and Bucky’s own right across the hall, if he were to want his own private room.

“I appreciate that, but if we sleep separately I feel like I’ll never get to know you.” Bucky clearly checks Steve out, ogling his chest in particular. He blushes all over again. 

They continue on with Bucky’s tour, taking it outside and onto the grounds. The two chat idly along the way, having plenty more in common than Steve would have ever thought. Despite similar interests, he still cannot get a read on Bucky. One minute he’s flirting and giggly, smiling at Steve and seemingly enjoying himself, but the next he’s closed off and hard faced, sarcastic in a way that isn’t playful. 

Getting to know each other is fun, in a way, even with Bucky being all over the place. 

Together they eat dinner, and it’s comfortable for the most part. They trade basic stories that are typical of people who just met. Steve tells Bucky all about Sam and Natasha, growing up with his best friends and getting into more trouble than his mother could handle sometimes. Bucky recounts tales of him, Rebecca, and Elizabeth and about Shuri as well. He doesn’t mention the arm and Steve doesn't ask.

Bucky _does_ , however, talk about parties. Specifically all of the balls he’s been to, making his way around the country. He’s suggestive in his tellings and Steve is just trying to keep up.

At the end of the night, post-dessert Steve and Bucky stroll back up the stairs and down the halls to the bedroom quarters. They stop in front of the room set aside for Bucky.

“Pretty sure we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony,” Steve comments. He shifts his weight back and forth, clearly unsure of what to do or say.

“That’s just too bad, isn’t it?” Bucky is staring right at Steve while he says this, with a hint of _something_ in his eyes. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Bucky’s back is to the door, blindly reaching for the knob to twist open. Steve huffs a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. It’s still a bit on the long side, but it along with his beard have been trimmed in preparation for the wedding. 

Steve quickly leans in to press a peck to Bucky’s cheek. It’s over almost as soon as it begins, and Bucky smells like flowers and something just the sweetest. 

“It was nice to finally meet you, after a long time.” Steve smiles and Bucky’s face does something he hasn’t seen yet, confusion mixed with… another emotion he can’t quite pinpoint. 

“Yeah…” Steve opens his own door and it’s closed before he can hear Bucky’s “ _What do you mean_ long time _? Fuck._ ”

☽☽☽

Bucky tosses and turns all night long, never able to find a comfortable position to lay on in a foreign bed. For all of the big day that he has the next day, sleep never finds him. In the middle of the night Bucky ends up roaming around the large guest room, exploring the unfamiliar space. 

His wedding gown hangs off of a closet hook, elegant even in the moonlight shining through the window. Small platform heels sit just below the dress which are ready for Bucky to slip into when ready. The crown that will be placed upon his head during the ceremony by Steve is nowhere to be found and he opens an engraved metal box that is placed directly in the middle of the room’s vanity. Dainty pieces of jewelry rest inside the box; pearls, thin gold chains, and gold rings to match.

None of Bucky’s clothes are in any of the chest of drawers, presumably sent to be put away in his future husband’s bedroom quarters. He stalks towards the windows instead, identical and two on either side of the bed. 

He’s got on something soft to sleep in, even though it seems he won’t be doing a lot of that tonight. Blue stockings that come up to the tops of his knees and a matching robe that leaves nothing to the imagination.

[art by [fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter)]

There's a small ledge just below the glass and Bucky sits down on the edge, peering down on the grounds below him. He’s on one of the highest floors of the castle and the land in front of him is vast and covered in many different things. Ranging from clusters of trees, the ground horse stables, the livestock barnes, and fields of crops in the far distance.

Tomorrow -- or today, rather -- has his nerves set aflame. 

Steve is attractive, incredibly attractive, there’s no denying that. When Bucky first saw him, he was shocked to find a tall, broad, bearded man standing in the doorway, even by seeing the painting of him and the Queen first. Steve’s looks could kill, or in this case bring Bucky to his knees. Easily. 

But he was more surprised to know how genuine Steve was to him, how _kind_ he is. Steve seems to be taking this whole thing better than Bucky is and he’s almost jealous of it. 

Bucky’s never been with someone as sweet, kind, and attentive as Steve. He’s casually courted and had sex with plenty of men over the years, and none of them have made an impression on him like Steve has. And they haven’t even fucked, let alone kiss yet. They have known each other for less than a day, one day, and Bucky can see the man he is. 

And Steve is _super_ fucking hot.

Minus his brilliant personality, he’s the type of guy Bucky would jump on in an instant. Steve’s a six foot two stack of royal beef, a narrow waist and abs that he can see under his tight shirt, and broad shoulders Bucky wants to _climb_.

Despite being a nervous wreck, what comes after their ceremony _excites_ him. Sleeping in the same bed as Prince Steve Rogers is something Bucky is looking forward to greatly.

First, all he has to do is get through his own wedding. 

The following morning, Bucky is up before the sunrise. He maybe got an hour of sleep total, and at five in the morning his feet were touching the cold floors of the castle and heading into the guest bathroom to take a long ritualistic bath. 

He fills the tub with calming scented soaps and lights candles to brighten up the bathroom, placing them strategically along the tub’s edge, the window ledge, and throughout the room. Bucky climbs in and soaks. He begins to scrub his hair, lathering it with shampoo and submerging his head when it is time to rinse it out, and repeats this process with a strong conditioner to leave his hair soft and silky smooth. After putting in product in his hair to leave in, Bucky moves on to his body. Exfoliating, shaving, and washing his body come quick to him with years of routine. 

By the time he steps out of the bath, the sun is starting to peek through the horizon. Bucky dries himself off with a fluffy blue towel, from his hair to his body. He then moisturizes, starting with his face, so he takes on a natural glow, and moves down, rubbing his arms, torso, and legs with expensive lotions. He takes the robe that was set out near the towels and wraps it around himself, tying it off with a bow.

Bucky makes his way back into the bedroom and sits down in the middle of the room where there is no furniture. He stretches. 

Stretching takes an hour of his time, focusing on the task of loosening his body helps him relax. Right when he finishes there’s a knock at his door and breakfast is served and brought to him by one of the kitchen staff. He thanks them and digs into his meal.

The food is good. The eggs are cooked just the way he likes them, the bacon is crispy, and the toast is buttery and crunchy. He sets the plate back on the tray it came on and places it on the table by the door. Bucky goes to brush his teeth. 

The entire morning flies by quicker than Bucky even realizes. One minute he’s eating breakfast and the next he’s applying a final layer of blush, just to add something to his face while the woman designated to help him get ready pins up his hair. Her hands are careful with his hair, taking piece by piece and settling the natural wavy curls of his hair on the back of his head. She finishes before he does and walks across the room to grab the dress from where it hangs.

Setting the brush down, he stands and walks over to the kind woman where she is holding the dress open in wait. Bucky slips into it easily and she takes her time buttoning up the back. It fits perfectly, tailored exactly for his body. The shoes come next and he’s ready. 

He’s ready to get married.

His hair is already pulled up and away from his face. Looking in a mirror is like looking at a version of himself Bucky never thought he would see. A wedding. _His_ wedding. 

Walking out of the room is not easy, but he eventually opens the door and finds both of his sisters waiting in front of him.

The two women have tears in their eyes when they see their brother and embrace him. 

“You look good, Bucky.” Elizabeth whispers in his ear. Bucky laughs wetly and pulls back from his sisters, wiping his own tears that threaten to fall.

“Thank you, Liz.” Bucky takes his sister’s hand in his.

“So beautiful, Bucky. The prince won’t know what hit him.” Rebecca grabs Bucky’s other hand, squeezing and proceeding to wink at him. 

“Becca, come on…” Bucky groans. Both of his sisters giggle and loop their arms in Bucky’s. 

The three siblings walk down the corridors and down the stairs. They chat about everything and nothing all at once, casual like this won’t be the last time it is normal between them. The closer they get to the chapel, the more they slow their steps, taking their sweet time getting to the destination.

But they cannot hold off forever. Reaching the chapel, Queen Winifred is waiting outside with her arms folded in front of her. Elizabeth and Rebecca kiss his cheeks and walk into the hall to take their seats. Now it is just Bucky and his mother.

She smiles at him.

“I still think this will be good for you, James.” The Queen -- here, his mother -- offers her arm for him. Bucky takes it and gently places his hand on her arm.

“Somehow, I believe you.” 

Music begins playing and the doors open up wide.

Bucky immediately spots Steve at the end of the aisle. He’s dressed in a navy blue coat with gold trimmings and trousers that match perfectly. His hair is long and slicked back and his beard is neat and finely trimmed. Bucky can feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, yet the ones that are making his cheeks heat up are at the end. They’re blue and bright, even from where he’s standing. 

Beside him, his mother nudges him gently and the two begin walking down the aisle. The entire trip down, Steve never takes his eyes off of Bucky, not even for a second. 

Reaching the end of the aisle, Bucky’s mother turns to him and gets up on her tiptoes to kiss her son on the cheek. Pulling back, her eyes are shiny with tears. Queen Winifred passes Bucky’s arm off to Steve and goes to sit down.

Arm in arm, the husbands-to-be turn forward towards the officiant.

“Good afternoon everyone. Today we are gathered to celebrate the union of Prince Steven Grant Rogers of Dellingr and Prince James Buchanan Barnes of Nótt in matrimony…” 

Bucky tunes the beginning of the ceremony out. All he can zero in on is Steve’s warm presence next to him. He smells fantastic and it’s affecting Bucky at the moment more than he would like to admit. Especially then when Steve turns to him, leans down, and whispers into Bucky’s ear. 

“You look very beautiful, by the way.” Steve’s close enough that his lips brush the shell of his ear, warm breath causing Bucky to shiver. He glances up at Steve and they’re almost nose to nose. He swallows.

“Thank you, Steve.” He whispers back. Bucky quickly turns his head back.

The officiant is suddenly gesturing towards Queen Sarah, who is standing off to the side and holding a crown on a royal blue plush display pillow, to come forward. She walks with the amount of grace that Bucky expects a queen with her experience to have. 

Queen Sarah stands on a step in front of her son, still shorter than Steve even with her added height. She wears an elegant blue and gold gown and her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders. 

Bucky immediately recognizes the crown in Queen Sarah’s hands as the one she wore in the portrait hanging in the main sitting room. That’s hers and a piece of _her_ and her family will be sitting atop Bucky’s head.

Steve gently plucks the crown from the pillow and swivels towards Bucky while he does the same. Somewhere in the back of his mind, but in reality it’s right in front of him and he’s starstruck at his own wedding, the officiant instructs Bucky to kneel down below Steve.

He, however, takes that and kneels on _both_ knees, not one, and meets Steve’s eyes from where he is. Steve is flushed pretty, pink in his face and all the way down his neck, falling below the collar of his jacket. His eyes are blown wide at the image Bucky is making below him, and Bucky feels powerful seeing the way he affects Steve.

Steve’s arms reach over and the crown is set upon Bucky’s head. His hands move from the crown and cup Bucky’s face ever so softly. They linger on his face before pulling back from his personal space and Bucky slowly stands. Steve’s eyes are still on him as he turns forwards. There’s _want_ there, he can feel it radiating off of Steve and it makes desire pool heavy in Bucky’s gut.

They are asked to join hands and Steve places his on top of Bucky’s, warm and big, and laces their fingers together. The intimate gesture has his own cheeks heating up and he’s sure the blush blooming on his face is showing. No one had ever done that before, held his hand, choosing to instead grab his wrist or lock arms. Not hold his hand like it meant something. 

Bucky continues to tune the officiant in and out. In when he directs them to do or say something, out when he speaks about anything else. Still all he can concentrate on is Steve.

When the time comes to exchange rings, the officiant is still speaking. Steve once again takes Bucky’s hand, but this time it’s the left one -- the metal one -- and slides the ring right on to his fourth finger. It’s in the shape of a tiara, rose gold and beautiful, with Bucky’s birthstone smacked in the middle. Bucky repeats this process with Steve, who has a matching ring in color and thickness, sliding it on Steve’s finger with the utmost care. 

The warmth coming off of Steve evident now more than ever. And the look, the _look_ , Steve is giving him like he wants to _kiss_ Bucky, and Bucky wants him to do it. Which might actually happen sooner rather than later, because the officiant is still talking, sounding like he’s _declaring_ something, and Steve is _leaning in_.

Steve’s lips are warm, just like the rest of him, and just the slightest bit chapped. The kiss doesn’t last long at all, but it’s the best one Bucky’s ever had. Chaste yet perfect.

Bucky pulls back first, before he jumps Steve’s bones in a _very_ public setting, and everything is rushed from there. The two husbands -- _husbands_ \-- make their way out of the hall and into a room right next to it to have just a moment alone.

Stepping in, the room doesn’t look like much. The only light source came from the small window in the corner and there were a few wooden chairs scattered throughout. That’s not what Bucky’s worried about right now though. The second Steve gets the door shut behind him, Bucky is cornering Steve and pressing him against the closed door. He hits it with a thud.

“Kiss me,” Bucky says, reaching up to gain access to Steve’s lips.

“What?” 

“Kiss. Me.” 

And what Bucky says is final, because Steve is leaning in again.

This kiss is so unlike the first one. It’s hot, wet, and messy. It’s so uncoordinated and Bucky can sense Steve’s inexperience, which he thankfully makes up for in enthusiasm. The _grip_ Steve has on Bucky is enough to make him tremble, his hands on Bucky’s waist and fingers digging in enough to leave a mark. And _fuck_ does Bucky want him to leave a mark there.

Bucky nips at Steve’s bottom lip to get him to open up and he does willingly, and he fills Steve’s mouth with a wet plunge of his tongue. Steve’s beard rubs against Bucky’s chin and the rough burn of it is exquisite, he knows it’ll leave evidence, red and patchy, of what they’re doing in this room. 

Bucky flicks his tongue and Steve’s groans into Bucky’s mouth rolling his hips which makes Bucky whine something high and needy. The pressure is heavenly but when he tries to buck his hips to get more, he’s met with nothing then his _back_ is connecting to the door. 

Steve is looming over him, lips just centimeters apart and each other's breath ghosting over their faces, and hips pressed against Bucky’s but they’re completely still. He can feel Steve is hard through the fabric of their clothes, and Bucky is positive Steve can feel him too.

“We have a party to get to.” Steve states matter of factly, breathless. Bucky tries to shift his hips just to get _something_ , but Steve has him pinned good.

“Yeah. And we’re a little busy.” He’s able to get his lips back on Steve’s only for a second before Steve pulls back and kisses Bucky’s forehead instead. He can feel his heart do an odd thing in his chest. 

“Later,” Steve whispers and his lips brush Bucky’s head so gently, but his skin feels like it’s on fire where it’s touched. “Promise.”

Bucky is practically vibrating out of his body by the time they make it out of the room. The pair walk arm in arm back down the corridors and into the ballroom at the otherside of the castle for the big reception. The party is in full swing when they arrive, couples waltzing across the floor.

People from all over come up to congratulate him and Steve, most of them Bucky has never met before. They introduce themselves, of course, but all Bucky can do is smile, nod, and say thank you. Steve, on the other hand, seems to know everyone at this wedding. Bucky can count on one hand the amount of guests he knows: his mother, his two sisters, and he hasn’t even spotted his own father.

A whole hour goes by before they’re finally finished and Bucky huffs a sigh of relief. He searches for the nearest waiter with alcohol and finds her quickly, taking a flute of champagne and downing it quickly. Now, he turns to find his husband. 

Gods, that’s still weird to think about.

Bucky spots him talking to a frightening redhead by the main door. He begins to strut over to him, putting on the moves to grab Steve’s attention. Boy, does it work. 

He’s quickly seen and Steve hastily excuses himself and strides towards Bucky. They reach each other in no time. Bucky is going to have to remember _that one_ for the future.

“Shall we dance?” Bucky takes Steve’s hand without waiting for an answer, dragging him out onto the busy dance floor. Steve’s eyes are wide and shoulders are tense when he looks back. One of Steve’s hands falls to Bucky’s waist, and the other grips his right. The metal hand rests carefully on Steve’s right shoulder. The ring on his finger gleams under the light of the chandelier. 

“What, you’ve never danced before, _husband_?” Bucky asks with a smirk on his face. 

“Not with someone so beautiful, no.” Steve readjusts his hold on Bucky and they start to sway to begin with. Bucky knows his whole face is red. 

“You like to flatter, don’t you.” It’s not a question and Bucky dips his head to hide the blush. Never has someone been so romantic with him. Steve moves and tilts his chin back up.

“It’s just the truth.” A soft kiss is placed on his lips, it’s light and fast, and Bucky looks up at Steve with stars in his eyes. 

He could get used to this _so_ easily. 

“So you’ve danced often then.” Bucky quirks an eyebrow. Steve laughs softly and continues to spin and sway them.

“Unfortunately. I’m not very good at it and I know enough to get by. It’s not so bad with you though.” 

“Well that’s good, considering we’re dancing right now.” Bucky switches up their moves and does complicated foot work, all while spinning out and back in from his husband. Steve catches him as he finishes and they carry on with simple sways. 

“That’s-- You’re-- Yeah, not bad.” Steve stutters breathlessly, blue eyes raking up and down Bucky from head to toe.

“Elegant.” Bucky snorts. Steve lightly and playfully slaps Bucky’s side. The two of them are getting along great, and Gods it’s more than Bucky could have ever hoped for.

There’s still something at the back of his mind, though, that is bugging him. How is Steve so okay with all of this? With being so close to Bucky, marrying a man he didn’t know without complaint? Does it not bother him at all?

Despite the inner turmoil going on inside of Bucky’s brain, he has a surprisingly good day and an even better night. Steve and Bucky danced for a long time, sharing stories about each other and sparing little kisses every once in a while. They drank and Bucky met Steve’s closest friends, Sam and Natasha, and had a delicious, filling dinner when the sun fell over the horizon.

Now, Bucky stands in front of Steve’s -- _their_ \-- bathroom mirror. All of his belongings were brought to Steve’s -- _their_ \-- quarters and put away for him. So when the two came back for bed when the party was over, he opened several drawers to be able to find the exact outfit he was looking for. It’s a delicate, thin white dress. Short and coming just below the fabric of his lace panties, off the shoulder and a neat bow tied in the front.

He let his hair down, waves falling past his shoulders and tips brush the very top of his collar bone. 

Stepping out of the bathroom is harder than Bucky would like to admit. For as ready as he was earlier to have Steve eat him alive, he’s nervous now. 

Peering around the corner, he sees Steve sitting on the sofa in the center of the room, just in the pants he was wearing for the wedding, and playing with the ring that now sits on his left hand. He twists it back and forth, and simply watching him is making more nerves rise up in Bucky’s body. 

On light feet, Bucky pads over to the sofa. When he gets to and stands in front of Steve, he still has not noticed Bucky, lost in thought. Bucky takes Steve’s hands in his own and moves them out of the way, replacing them with himself instead. Steve comes to when Bucky starts climbing into his lap, hands sliding to grip Bucky’s thighs instead. 

“Hi husband.” Bucky says.

Standing up is the last thing he expected right now, but Steve stands from the deep red sofa and takes Bucky with him. _Holy fuck_ , he thinks. Bucky knows Steve is built but fuck, he did not realize how strong he could be. Steve carries him to the nearest wall and holds him against it, hands shifting to cup his ass in place of his thighs. He squeezes. 

Absolutely not fast enough, Bucky meets Steve in a searing kiss. This time _Steve_ is the one getting Bucky’s mouth open, swiping his tongue and meeting Bucky’s. He kisses Bucky like he’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and it’s messing with Bucky like nothing has. There’s sounds coming from somewhere, high and needy and Bucky realizes it’s _him_ making them. All from kissing Steve, which is pretty fantastic. 

Steve disconnects their lips and Bucky whines about it until Steve kisses his way down and stops at his neck. 

“I told you we could continue later.” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s neck, and begins sucking. Bucky moans something whorish, rutting his hips against Steve’s stomach where he has him pinned. 

Slowly, as just to torture him, Steve sucks marks all the way down his neck. One right after another. He reaches the top of Bucky’s dress, and where Bucky thought he would stop he _keeps going_. 

Steve shifts all of Bucky’s weight onto his one arm and body and uses the other to push the fabric out of the way. When he’s satisfied with how much is showing, Steve leans in and takes Bucky’s nipple into his mouth. He flicks his tongue around it, licking and sucking and driving him absolutely crazy. 

[art by [fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) & [tallihoozoo](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo)]

Every noise coming out of Bucky is obscene, moaning _ah_ ’s and _oh_ ’s and whining at each move Steve makes. He writhes around in his husband’s arms, trying to get _more more more_ , but he _can’t_. 

“Steve,” He groans and circles his hips, Steve only sucks harder. “Steve, _please_.” 

That gets his attention.

Steve lets go with a _pop_ and gazes up at Bucky, lust obvious in his eyes. He shifts again and kisses Bucky for all he’s worth, and all Bucky can do is moan into his mouth and hold on for the ride.

“What do you need, Buck?” And oh, doesn’t the nickname send a shiver up his spine. Steve goes right back in to his neck, but presses little kisses there instead. It drives Bucky wild.

“Need, _hnng_ , need you in me.” Bucky pants and as fast as Steve got him against the wall, his back hits the bed with a light bounce. Bucky giggles but the sound is quickly covered by Steve’s mouth, kissing him hard.

Hands snake under the dress, pushing the skirt up and out of the way, and fingers curl around the waistband of the lace panties.

“Such a shame that these gotta go.” Steve says against Bucky’s lips, and they’re dragged down and all the way off. He backs off and takes in Bucky’s body, running his hands up and down, eyes never staying on any one place for too long. Though, they linger at Bucky’s cock more than once.

Steve strokes him a few times and Bucky gasps and bucks his hips at the sudden friction. It’s heaven and all he thought he needed, until a slick finger prods against his hole -- and when the fuck did Steve do that?

The thought immediately disappears when the finger circles and is pushed in. Steve takes his sweet time opening Bucky up, it feels like. One slowly turns into two, scissoring and twisting, getting as deep as he can go. When a third makes its way in, Bucky feels the stretch and Gods does it feel good. Steve is rubbing soothing circles on his hip and it has Bucky tearing up with how loving Steve is being while finger fucking him. 

What saint was he in the last life to deserve this?

Fingers hit his spot like a damn freight train and every nerve lights up inside of him. He _keens_ and fucks back down on Steve’s fingers, needing more. 

“Please,” Bucky begs and whines. “Please, _please_ more. Mmn, _Steve_ \--” The fingers are pulled out and he clenches around nothing, it feels empty and he needs to be full.

Steve reappears over Bucky and gives him a soft kiss before taking Bucky’s legs and repositioning them around his waist. 

“You look so pretty like this, Bucky. So beautiful.” He murmurs and the tip of his cock grazes against Bucky’s hole. Steve slides in before Bucky can even start to beg again, the length of his cock filling him up so nicely. 

Bucky feels so good he can’t even make proper sound until Steve is buried to the hilt and asking him a question.

“Bucky? Buck. You with me baby? You good?” Bucky nods and closes his eyes, squeezing them shut in ecstasy. “Hey, Buck, none of that. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” 

He opens them and can’t even think to look anywhere else, especially as Steve starts thrusting. Hard but still slow. Steve takes his time building up a rhythm, and Bucky wraps his arms around the back of Steve, hanging on and fingernails digging into his husband’s skin. 

The faster Steve gets, the more unhinged Bucky becomes. His whines are constant now, little _mph_ ’s and _uhn_ ’s escaping with ease. Steve fucks into him with vigor with each noise that comes out of his mouth and Bucky squirms with pleasure.

Squirming until Steve has enough of his moving and pins him again, and hits just the right spot. Thrusting again and again and again, Bucky can’t move under Steve’s weight and it’s so good, so amazing. Heat pools and settles in Bucky’s gut, building and building until he’s shouting out Steve’s name and spilling all over both of them.

It’s not long before Steve is grunting and coming inside of Bucky, whispering sweet yet dirty things into his year, and the feeling of it is incredible enough to want to go again. Steve is breathless, they both are, and his bulk is a comforting weight over Bucky, which is something that used to drive him insane. He likes feeling close to Steve, now and he has an inkling in the future too.

When Steve pulls out, he does so as gently as he can and gives Bucky a kiss for good measure. The concept of time has flown out the window for Bucky, and when Steve leaves for _something_ it’s like he’s away for years, but in reality is for maybe a minute at most.

He returns with a wet cloth and cleans Bucky up with care, wiping gently at his skin and pressing small kisses wherever he wipes. 

Dumping the cloth on the ground, Steve climbs into bed on the other side of Bucky and maneuvers him enough to get Bucky under as well. Bucky grabs the top and pulls it over him, rolling around until his body is against his husband’s. Steve wraps his arms around him.

It’s silent for a while. Bucky even thought Steve had fallen asleep, but his breathing told him otherwise. 

“What did you mean when you said a long time?” Bucky asks into the quiet. 

“Huh?” Steve’s voice rumbles and Bucky can hear it against his chest.

“Last night… you said it was nice to finally meet me after such a long time…” Bucky gets Steve to relax his grip and he flips over to face Steve, needing to look at him in this moment.

“Oh,” He starts. “I feel like I've been pining after you for years,” Steve doesn’t quite meet his gaze but still continues to talk. “Every ball, every royal dinner. I saw you everywhere. You’re the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen and it’s like something in me knew you’d be as great. And Gods was I right.” Steve smiles and there’s faint lines around his eyes. They’re soft and Bucky wants to kiss them.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything to me?” Bucky pushes himself up so he can watch Steve. He lays a hand on Steve’s chest. “I can’t imagine looking at you and not… not be completely enamored with you.”

“You did look at me, though.” Steve finally met Bucky’s eyes. Every emotion showing on his face said he is telling the truth.

“What?” 

“The first night I saw you, you looked right at me. Winked at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Never could, really.” Steve reaches up and plays with a loose strand of Bucky’s hair. He tucks it behind his ear.

Bucky feels like he has to lean down to kiss Steve. So he does. Steve’s lips are soft and kiss swollen from their activities earlier, and it’s light and sweet. He retracts just an inch to be able to speak.

“I’ve never been in love before,” Bucky admits. He blindly searches for Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together when he finds it. “And I don’t think it’s supposed to happen this fast, but I know it’s gotta feel like this.”

☽☽☽

Three years later, to the day, Steve and Bucky wake up in each other's arms like they do every morning. The sun shines in through the windows and the cat snoozes at the bottom of the bed. It’s Steve’s own personal heaven.

“Morning, husband.” Bucky yawns and burrows back down in the blankets and right next to Steve.

“I love you.” Steve says, because years later and it will never get old. Bucky peeks his head out, hair a mess and eyes bright.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is [peachybuckys](https://twitter.com/peachybuckys) :-)


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